


Wyndham Estates

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Sam is your neighbor and he’s good at fixing things (of course), so you ask him to take a look at your leaky faucet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for SPN Kink Bingo.  
> Square filled: Neighbors

 

Sam had been your neighbor for more than two years, living in the townhouse just across the courtyard from yours. You’d become friends, well, acquaintances anyway, exchanging pleasantries at Wyndham Estates neighborhood barbecues and get-togethers. You gravitated towards each other, especially since you were one of just a handful of people in the complex that didn’t have children, or even a significant other. He’d borrowed eggs and sugar from you a couple of times, you’d taken him his mail when is was accidentally delivered to you, you’d even shared a six-pack of beer with him and his brother one Sunday afternoon when you’d heard them yelling at a football game from your front patio.

If hard pressed, you know, with torture or something, you might have admitted that you had a bit of a crush on your handsome neighbor. But who wouldn’t? Sam was gorgeous; six foot, four inches of lean muscle, with shaggy brown hair that was forever falling in his face, and those multi-colored eyes that practically made your heart stop when they turned on you. You weren’t immune.

You thought maybe the feeling might be mutual; he was always kind of flirty with you, seemed to go out of his way to chat with you, seeking you out at those neighborhood parties, always stopping to talk when he saw you outside. You’d been trying to work up the nerve to ask him out for quite a while.

All of this meant you’d taken extra care with your appearance before walking across the courtyard to knock on Sam’s door. Casual and cute had been your mantra as you’d thrown on a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt this morning and carefully combed your hair. Keep it simple. You were confident that you had the perfect excuse to hopefully open the door to asking him out to dinner. Sam had kind of become the neighborhood handyman, helping out whenever he could. And you needed his help. In return, you’d buy him dinner. First date accomplished.

You took a deep breath and knocked. It took him so long to open that door that you had begun to think he wasn’t home, in fact you’d turned around to go back home when he flung open his door.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Sam, um, hi.” You put a hand to your hair, smoothing it self-consciously. He looked like he’d just woke up, his hair kind of a mess, wearing just a pair of gray sweatpants and a thin black t-shirt.

“You okay, Y/N?” he asked, his gaze drifting over your shoulder, a flash of worry in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you replied. “I was just wondering if you could take a look at my sink. Well, my faucet, it’s been leaking and I can’t get it to stop. Only if you have time though, you know, I mean, I don’t want to impose -”

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be right over,” he smiled.

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate it. And as a thank you, I’ll buy you dinner some time.”

Sam was at your door ten minutes later, wearing the same black t-shirt, the sweatpants replaced with a pair of faded jeans, a toolbox in his hand, hair at least finger-combed. You let him in and led him to the kitchen, pointing helpfully at the kitchen sink.

“You know your place has the same layout as mine, right?” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” you blushed. 

You watched him work for a couple of minutes, enjoying the stretch of his shirt across his shoulders and the way you could see the edge of his underwear above the waistband of his jeans when he stretched across the counter to grab something. Saxx. He wore Saxx. You needed to sit down.

You grabbed a magazine off the counter and slid onto one of the barstools at your kitchen counter. You flipped through it, pretending to read, but you were really keeping one eye on Sam. He had a wrench or something in his hand, and it looked like he was using it on the faucet. He glanced over his shoulder at you, smiled and winked.

You felt a blush working its way up your cheeks, so you quickly dropped your eyes, acting fully absorbed in whatever crap you were staring at. You put your hand on your forehead and tried not to look at the gorgeous creature standing in your kitchen, tried not to think about how attracted you were to him, tried not to think about how you hoped he was equally attracted to you.

You heard a ‘pop’ and then what sounded like Niagara Falls  _ in your kitchen _ . The first drops of icy cold water hitting your face were a shock, making you flinch. You pushed yourself out of your chair, stumbling back a few steps, watching the water explode in a giant stream from where your faucet used to be. Sam was standing over it, already soaking wet, holding his hands over the jets of water pulsing out from where the faucet used to be.

“Shit!” Sam yelled.

You rushed to his side, yanking off the sweater you were wearing, holding it over the water, anything to stop the insane flood filling your kitchen. Sam swung around, grabbed the flimsy kitchen towel hanging from your stove and tossed it to you. You added it to your sweater, though it was doing nothing to stop the flow, the water spraying from the sink, hitting you in the face, soaking you to the bone. Sam tossed you another piece of cloth, then he hit his knees, diving under the cupboard in front of you. A few seconds later, the water slowly tapered off and stopped.

You dropped the wet sweater, towel, and whatever it was Sam had tossed to you in the sink and stepped back. Water dripped from every inch of you, your hair, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. Your clothes were soaked, clinging to your body.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, his wet hair hanging in his eyes. The black cloth he’d tossed at you must have been his shirt, because he was now standing in front of you, naked from the waist up. It suddenly seemed very quiet in your kitchen, quiet enough that the sound of you swallowing nervously seemed thunderously loud.

“Jesus, Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He hooked his finger in the edge of your soaked t-shirt and pulled it away from your body, grinning sheepishly.

Without thinking, you took a step closer, reached up and pushed his wet hair out of his face. Only when Sam’s eyes widened noticeably did you realize what you’d done. For what was probably the hundredth time that day, you blushed.

“I’m...s-sorry,” you stammered, embarrassed. “I’ll, uh, get some, um, get some towels.”

Before you could move, Sam grabbed your wrist, his eyes locked on yours. It seemed liked all the air had been sucked out of the room; it was a vacuum empty of everything but you and Sam, and your shared desire for each other. He gave a gentle tug, pulling you toward him, mere inches between the two of you. You sucked in a stuttering breath and let it out slowly, pushed yourself up on your toes and brushed your lips against his.

His arms snaked around your waist and then he was crushing you to his chest, his mouth on yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You were bent nearly backwards, your hands in Sam’s wet hair, holding him to you, groaning a little at the feel of his hands on you, the smell of him assaulting you, his hard body pressed against yours.

Sam picked you up and set you on the edge of the counter, his lips leaving a burning trail from your mouth and down your neck, his huge hands hot on your skin beneath the edge of your shirt. You hooked your fingers in his belt loops, yanking him closer, your need for him increasing with every breath you somehow managed to drag through your parted lips.

He peeled the wet shirt from your body, the cool air hitting your damp skin, goosebumps covering you. He leaned down, his lips ghosting along the edge of your lace bra, a low growl rumbling through his chest. His hands slid up your back, catching the straps of your bra between his fingers. His eyes came up, locking on yours, the unasked question obvious on his face.

You nodded your consent, eagerly, too eagerly, afraid you’d given away too much, but not caring because Jesus Christ, Sam was sliding the straps of your bra down your arms, unhooking it easily, popping open the little clip on the front, his fingers grazing your nipples as he pushed it off. He leaned into you, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips as he widened his stance and dropped his head to pull the hard, pink nub of your nipple into his mouth.

You leaned back, bracing your hand on the counter behind you, heat rushing through you, settling between your legs. Sam ran his hand up your inner thigh, pressing his palm against the thick denim covering you. He worked open the button on your shorts and eased down the zipper, his fingers pushing past your underwear, touching you, just like you’d dreamed about since the day you’d met him, his fingers teasing at your entrance, his mouth greedily suckling your breast, the sensation bordering on painful, but in the best possible way.

“Sam,” you moaned.

He released you, his head coming up, his lips on yours, kissing you, swallowing your moans. He couldn’t seem to keep his mouth off of you, brushing gentle kisses across your lips, your shoulders, your neck. He lifted you, just a little, just enough that he could slide one finger deep into you, slowly opening you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve wanted you?” Another finger joined the first, drawing a gasp from you as he grazed your clit with his thumb. He pumped his fingers in and out, so slow you started squirming, groaning with need, one hand wrapped around his wrist, silently urging him on.

Sam abruptly stood up, pulling you with him. “Couch?” he mumbled.

“Couch,” you nodded. 

He held you in his arms, carrying you easily out of the kitchen and into the living room. He lowered you onto your sectional and shucked off his jeans. You followed his example, pushing off your shorts, giggling as Sam grabbed your panties and yanked them down your legs, dropping them to the floor. You pointed at his boxers, gesturing for him to remove them, your breath catching in your throat as they hit the floor.

Sam’s cock stood at attention, hard, throbbing, the tip bobbing against his lower stomach, drops of pre-come running down the length. You groaned, your mouth watering at the thought of him inside of you, of Sam pushing into you, of him pounding into you, taking you, making you his. You reached for him, taking him in your hand, sliding down the length, wrapping your fingers around the base, squeezing a little, then back up again, circling the tip with your thumb. Sam’s head fell back and he groaned, the muscles in his thighs tightening noticeably as you stroked him.

You pushed yourself up, sitting on the edge of the couch, one arm going around Sam’s thighs, the other holding him, guiding him into your mouth. Another groan came from the man above you, the man you were sliding into your mouth, the man tangling his fingers in your hair, his hips moving ever so slightly. You let out your own moan as his taste flooded your mouth, your throat opening to take him in, though not all of him, there was no way, he was too huge, too thick, too much. You slid him in and out of your mouth, taking as much as you could, your eyes closed, inhaling his scent, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him on your tongue, brushing against the roof of your mouth, all of it sending an ache of need rushing through you.

“Y/N,” Sam gasped.

You released him, long enough to look up at him, his chest rising and falling, drops of water from his wet hair running down his his neck, over his shoulders, his lips kiss-swollen, his eyes lust-blown. 

He fell over you, growling, covering you with his body, his mouth on yours, his knee between your legs, pushing them open. He grabbed his jeans, pulled a condom from his pocket, ripping open the package and hurrying to put it on. He guided himself to your entrance, slowly entering you, easing in, giving you time to adjust. He kept kissing you, one huge hand gently kneading your breast, his warm body covering yours. 

The intensity of all those sensations was completely overwhelming you, your entire body was shaking, your heart racing, the coil deep in the pit of your stomach wound so tight you thought it might snap at any second.

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re so tight, baby,” Sam growled.

You planted your hands on his ass and wrapped one leg around his waist, pulling him into you, the brief bite of pain nothing compared to the pleasure of Sam being seated completely inside you. He moved, tipping his hips a little, one hand sliding beneath you to lift you up, his cock brushing your sweet spot, as he buried himself deeper inside you. He braced his foot on the floor, one hand above your head, holding the arm of the couch, his other still beneath you, keeping you tight against his body, rocking into you.

It started slow, Sam taking his time, your body stretching to accommodate him, the two of you feeling each other out, figuring out a rhythm, figuring out what the other liked, how the other moved. You couldn’t stop touching him, exploring his body with your hands and your mouth. It was a slow build, both of you taking your time until you couldn’t hold back, until you were clawing at his back, begging him to fuck you harder, begging him to take you. Sam was more than happy to oblige, slamming into you, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. 

You dug your nails into his shoulders as the orgasm hit you, your body tensing, bursts of color exploding behind your closed eyelids, every nerve ending alight as you came. Sam was relentless, pounding into you, pushing you toward another orgasm as he chased his own. You reached over your head and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, screaming his name as the second orgasm rolled through you, his cock pulsing as he let go.

Sam rolled to his side, pulling you with him, his lips against your neck, his cock softening against your leg. You traced a finger over the tattoo on his chest and pressed your face against his arm, trying to hide what you were sure was a goofy, self-satisfied grin on your face. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and brushed your hair from your face.

“So, about your sink,” he said quietly.

“You broke it,” you giggled. 

“Um, yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckled. “I’m not so great at plumbing.”

You pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Then why did you agree to fix it?”

“Because it was you,” he shrugged. “I didn’t plan on breaking it -”

You laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I think you’re forgiven,” you whispered against his mouth. “Now, what do you say we go clean up all that water in my kitchen?“

“You got it,” he grinned. “Then you can call a real plumber. But, I’d still like to take you out to dinner, if that’s alright?”

“Definitely,” you agreed.


End file.
